It was still morning when the crew arrived in Anchorage. Before docking, Philip and Hayes stood at the bow, sharing a pair of binoculars like witches sharing an eyeball as they scanned the docks for any surprises. Apparently satisfied with their reconnaissance efforts, they sailed the boat straight into port.
Philip checked his watch again. "Big Mike is due in two hours," he said. "That's how long the two of you'll have to get home and pack your things, so be quick."
Vitus nodded. He and Jenn had spent the previous fifteen minutes planning out exactly what they would need to take and in what order, like a complex battle plan just in case things were cut short. They would take a taxi to their town, which would be expensive and cost them at least half an hour (and maybe more) in total traveling time, but they agreed that it would be the most inconspicuous manner of sneaking back into town. They also agreed that under no circumstances was Vitus to return to his shop, but Vitus still felt a deep pang to see Bethel's Fine Finds one last time. He figured he would either cross or burn that bridge when he came to it.
Jenn placed the call from a pay phone by the docks. Moments later, an orange taxi stopped along the street. Before they could leave, Philip pulled Vitus aside and wordlessly handed him one of his dark gray pistols. His expression said everything, including, "Use this if you need it, but only if you need it."
Vitus' nod said, "Gotcha."
Ordinarily, Vitus knew that Jenn would never approve of him carrying a firearm, but in an extreme circumstance like this one, he believed she would understand. Philip briefly showed him how the safety worked, which relieved Vitus immensely, and then the antique-dealer tucked the weapon inside his coat, joined an unsuspecting Jenn at the taxi's doors, and set off for an unexpected sort of homecoming.
The ride was mostly quiet, and any conversation in which they chose to engage was cryptic at best. The taxi driver glanced back at them every so often, completely and purposely left in the dak about the couple in the back seat. Eventually, he gave up altogether, not even bothering to cock his good ear in their direction, as other, more meddlesome taxi drivers are inclined to do.
Approximately twenty minutes had passed before they started seeing signs of home--the outlying neighborhoods and shopping centers that separated their small town from the relatively more bustling world of Anchorage. At first, they were somehow relieved that it was still there. In reality, it had only been a matter of hours since they'd first left, but it felt like years.
They stopped at the edge of the downtown district, just off the main road a few blocks from the house Vitus owned. They paid their driver thirty dollars with the promise of more if he would return to the same spot in exactly one hour to pick them up. The cabbie agreed and went on his way, eager to find fares more willing to part with their secrets.
The wind picked up, and both Vitus and Jenn were glad they still had their coats. They decided that because the Russians never knew Jenn's name, therefore leaving them unable to find her home, she would be safest. She would stick to the back streets, pack what she needed at home, and meet him back at the corner within the hour. Vitus knew that he might not be as lucky, and he had the shaking hands to prove it. He hoped that the Russians had not yet had time to return or, at the very least, did not have the sense to open a phone book to find his address. He immediately decided that his next phone number would be unlisted, and then he pat the gun bulging beneath his jacket, reassuring him for no other reason than the fact that it was still there. Vitus and Jenn hugged each other awkwardly and walked part of the way together. Vitus' house was nearest, so they said their brief goodbyes and went their separate ways. Vitus lingered on his lawn, watching Jenn as long as he could to make sure she was safe. It would have been a bold move and one he could not imagine himself performing under any other circumstance, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to run up to her, sweep her off her feet, and tell her how much he loved her. Instead, he decided that that particular aspect of their interpersonal relationship could wait until they were on safer ground. After all, Vitus never claimed to be a man that gave in to his passions.
As Vitus Bethel walked back into his home for the first time since his life had been threatened and flipped topsy-turvy, it occurred to him that he'd been taking the entire ordeal rather well. In fact, so had Jenn. Despite his longing for an action-packed life, Vitus knew deep down that he was not cut out for gun fights and international intrigue, yet here he was. Perhaps, he thought, neither of them had fully given the events of the morning a chance to sink in; maybe it was because they had each other, and each was prepared to show the other the extent of his or her worth and bravery; or, more likely, because he was simply a pawn--an unwitting actor trapped in a grand, cosmic tragicomedy by a pompous and bemused higher power. Somehow, the latter explanation was more encouraging.
The antique-dealer's house seemed so much larger and darker than usual. He carefully checked every corner of every room downstairs before sneaking up the stairs to his own bedroom. Satisfied that he was, indeed, alone in the house, Vitus relaxed, unclenching his hand from the tucked-away gun, and set to the task at hand. His best suitcase, like Jenn's, was lost to the Russians, so he was forced to make do with what he had. He grabbed as many of his suits as he could fit into his assorted bags and lined the edges with pairs of socks and boxer shorts. He managed to wedge in two extra pairs of shoes, as well, and then headed to the bathroom to collect his toothbrush and other assorted toiletries. They may not have been essential items, Vitus knew, but he hoped they might at least keep the journey ahead from being too unpleasant.
Once his packing was complete, Vitus realized that he still had half an hour before he was due back at the corner, so he decided to see if Jenn needed any help with her belongings. But first, he ran to his kitchen, grabbed a loaf of bread from his pantry, and prepared two ceremonial pieces of toast. One for him. One for her. He had every intention of returning here once the dust had settled, but he prepared himself for one last walk down the streets of his home.
A car door slammed outside, and Vitus' attention jerked from the toast in his hand to the nearest window. Through a gap in the curtains he could see a long, black car and the two men in dark suits who were now approaching his door. Vitus panicked. He thrust the toast into his coat pockets, grabbed his bags, and made a quick but quiet scramble for the back door, taking care to lock it securely behind him.
As he snuck through his next door neighbor's back yard, he watched as the Russians roamed around his house, peeking in every window and checking both the front and back doors. Vitus swallowed hard and checked the gun beneath his coat. It was still there, and he hoped to God he wouldn't need to use it.
Philip checked his watch again. "Big Mike is due in two hours," he said. "That's how long the two of you'll have to get home and pack your things, so be quick."
Vitus nodded. He and Jenn had spent the previous fifteen minutes planning out exactly what they would need to take and in what order, like a complex battle plan just in case things were cut short. They would take a taxi to their town, which would be expensive and cost them at least half an hour (and maybe more) in total traveling time, but they agreed that it would be the most inconspicuous manner of sneaking back into town. They also agreed that under no circumstances was Vitus to return to his shop, but Vitus still felt a deep pang to see Bethel's Fine Finds one last time. He figured he would either cross or burn that bridge when he came to it.
Jenn placed the call from a pay phone by the docks. Moments later, an orange taxi stopped along the street. Before they could leave, Philip pulled Vitus aside and wordlessly handed him one of his dark gray pistols. His expression said everything, including, "Use this if you need it, but only if you need it."
Vitus' nod said, "Gotcha."
Ordinarily, Vitus knew that Jenn would never approve of him carrying a firearm, but in an extreme circumstance like this one, he believed she would understand. Philip briefly showed him how the safety worked, which relieved Vitus immensely, and then the antique-dealer tucked the weapon inside his coat, joined an unsuspecting Jenn at the taxi's doors, and set off for an unexpected sort of homecoming.
The ride was mostly quiet, and any conversation in which they chose to engage was cryptic at best. The taxi driver glanced back at them every so often, completely and purposely left in the dak about the couple in the back seat. Eventually, he gave up altogether, not even bothering to cock his good ear in their direction, as other, more meddlesome taxi drivers are inclined to do.
Approximately twenty minutes had passed before they started seeing signs of home--the outlying neighborhoods and shopping centers that separated their small town from the relatively more bustling world of Anchorage. At first, they were somehow relieved that it was still there. In reality, it had only been a matter of hours since they'd first left, but it felt like years.
They stopped at the edge of the downtown district, just off the main road a few blocks from the house Vitus owned. They paid their driver thirty dollars with the promise of more if he would return to the same spot in exactly one hour to pick them up. The cabbie agreed and went on his way, eager to find fares more willing to part with their secrets.
The wind picked up, and both Vitus and Jenn were glad they still had their coats. They decided that because the Russians never knew Jenn's name, therefore leaving them unable to find her home, she would be safest. She would stick to the back streets, pack what she needed at home, and meet him back at the corner within the hour. Vitus knew that he might not be as lucky, and he had the shaking hands to prove it. He hoped that the Russians had not yet had time to return or, at the very least, did not have the sense to open a phone book to find his address. He immediately decided that his next phone number would be unlisted, and then he pat the gun bulging beneath his jacket, reassuring him for no other reason than the fact that it was still there. Vitus and Jenn hugged each other awkwardly and walked part of the way together. Vitus' house was nearest, so they said their brief goodbyes and went their separate ways. Vitus lingered on his lawn, watching Jenn as long as he could to make sure she was safe. It would have been a bold move and one he could not imagine himself performing under any other circumstance, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to run up to her, sweep her off her feet, and tell her how much he loved her. Instead, he decided that that particular aspect of their interpersonal relationship could wait until they were on safer ground. After all, Vitus never claimed to be a man that gave in to his passions.
As Vitus Bethel walked back into his home for the first time since his life had been threatened and flipped topsy-turvy, it occurred to him that he'd been taking the entire ordeal rather well. In fact, so had Jenn. Despite his longing for an action-packed life, Vitus knew deep down that he was not cut out for gun fights and international intrigue, yet here he was. Perhaps, he thought, neither of them had fully given the events of the morning a chance to sink in; maybe it was because they had each other, and each was prepared to show the other the extent of his or her worth and bravery; or, more likely, because he was simply a pawn--an unwitting actor trapped in a grand, cosmic tragicomedy by a pompous and bemused higher power. Somehow, the latter explanation was more encouraging.
The antique-dealer's house seemed so much larger and darker than usual. He carefully checked every corner of every room downstairs before sneaking up the stairs to his own bedroom. Satisfied that he was, indeed, alone in the house, Vitus relaxed, unclenching his hand from the tucked-away gun, and set to the task at hand. His best suitcase, like Jenn's, was lost to the Russians, so he was forced to make do with what he had. He grabbed as many of his suits as he could fit into his assorted bags and lined the edges with pairs of socks and boxer shorts. He managed to wedge in two extra pairs of shoes, as well, and then headed to the bathroom to collect his toothbrush and other assorted toiletries. They may not have been essential items, Vitus knew, but he hoped they might at least keep the journey ahead from being too unpleasant.
Once his packing was complete, Vitus realized that he still had half an hour before he was due back at the corner, so he decided to see if Jenn needed any help with her belongings. But first, he ran to his kitchen, grabbed a loaf of bread from his pantry, and prepared two ceremonial pieces of toast. One for him. One for her. He had every intention of returning here once the dust had settled, but he prepared himself for one last walk down the streets of his home.
A car door slammed outside, and Vitus' attention jerked from the toast in his hand to the nearest window. Through a gap in the curtains he could see a long, black car and the two men in dark suits who were now approaching his door. Vitus panicked. He thrust the toast into his coat pockets, grabbed his bags, and made a quick but quiet scramble for the back door, taking care to lock it securely behind him.
As he snuck through his next door neighbor's back yard, he watched as the Russians roamed around his house, peeking in every window and checking both the front and back doors. Vitus swallowed hard and checked the gun beneath his coat. It was still there, and he hoped to God he wouldn't need to use it.
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